


Fingers

by carmenere



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bassist!Derek, Ficlet, M/M, drummer!Stiles, guitarist!Scott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2519678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmenere/pseuds/carmenere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles can't sleep, and when he can't sleep, he invites himself and Scott over to Derek's loft for an impromptu band session. This time, Scott doesn't show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fingers

Stiles lay on his bed too tired to sleep. Oh, he’d slept twenty minutes, then spent another forty trying to get back to sleep, and so on. He’d given up by now on a good night’s rest and resigned himself to staring at the ceiling while lazily drumming his fingers on his stomach.

He sat up suddenly, opened the drawer of his nightstand, and pulled out his drum pad and sticks. Stiles went through through a few of the Offspring songs he’d taught himself before he decided that he was officially too amped to even attempt sleeping again. He reached for his phone and texted Scott, _You awake_?

It felt like an eternity had passed before Stiles felt his phone vibrate and light up with Scott’s reply. _I am now, jerkoff. What?_

_Spontaneous jam sesh at Derek’s. bring your guitar._ Oh shit. It probably wasn’t a good idea to invite someone to another person’s house without permission. Stiles sent Derek a quick text to make sure that it was, in fact, permissible.

_No._

_Too late._

_STILES_

_Don’t be mad Der Bear. We’ll play your favorite song first._ Stiles was probably going to get hit for the nickname, but it was going to stick, he knew it. So it was worth whatever punishment he’d receive.

Stiles shoved his drum pads and sticks into a backpack and scribbled a note to his dad, letting him know where he’d gone. He held his sneakers in his hand as he tiptoed through the house and out the door. He shoved his shoes onto his feet and rushed to the Jeep, keeping the headlights off until he was no longer facing the house.

Derek opened the door and scowled at Stiles. “Why,” he stated as he stepped aside and let the younger boy inside.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged. “I tried, I really did, Der Bear.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Stiles ignored him and flopped onto the couch, his backpack at his feet. “I don’t know what it is. I was so tired and I knew I was tired but every time I fell asleep it was for like five minutes and then I was back where I started.”

Derek rolled his eyes as Stiles continued unloading every damn thought in his head, including, but not limited to, Hot Pockets, The Offspring, and his chemistry midterm coming up. What even was wrong with this kid?

“Stiles. Shut up and let’s play something until Scott gets here. I’ll go get my bass.”

As Derek plugged in his mini amp and tuned his bass, Stiles checked his phone to see if Scott had sent any messages. I should have picked him up. The probability of him not showing up was growing with every passing minute.

Stiles started tapping out a beat, impatient to get the music going, and before long, Derek was able to join in with the bass line from "London Calling." Stiles huffed because Derek would just change the song without asking, but at least it was a good one. But "London Calling" was hella boring for drumming, so Stiles started freestyling, first to go with the the bass line, then to get something fresh from his companion.

It took a moment for Derek to catch on and fully make the switch, but the results were magical. As Stiles tapped out his rhythm and beats on his pads and the rims as cymbals, he started staring at Derek’s fingers as they plucked away.

“I bet you play a mean classical guitar when you have claws,” Stiles said.

Derek scoffed, not even taking his eyes off the bass neck as he replied, “On those days when I don’t snap every single string, yes.” He keeps playing and Stiles just cannot stop watching.

Stiles puts down his sticks and enjoys the music. This wasn’t the first time he’d been treated to Derek’s musical ministrations, but usually he was surrounded by the rest of the pack who always have other prerogatives. He slouches in his seat and closes his eyes as Derek switches to a ska riff. Stiles could listen to this forever.

But then his mind starts to wonder about Derek’s fingers again. What else can he do with them? Stiles feels his heart rate pick up a little bit, and he hopes that Derek won’t notice. He imagines those talented fingers tracing lines down his body and--HUH? Stiles jolts upright and crosses his legs, doing his best to hide the chubby he has.

Derek stops playing. “You okay?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’m just… letting my mind wander.” And all he wants to do is let it wander like Derek’s hands would, and oh dear god the things they could do together. His chubby is now pitching a tent, and Stiles’s thoughts are too far gone to stop. His heart starts beating even faster, and it’s completely noticeable.

“Bullshit.” Derek raises an eyebrow and stares. Stiles is not the best liar and, with Sexy McLie Detector here, it would be utterly impossible to come up with anything convincing.

“I’m… um… fantasizing, and my brain got carried away.”

“Ska is hardly a bump and grind genre, Stiles.”

“It wasn’t the ska… it was your fingers, okay?” The words tumble out of his mouth. Before he knows it, he’s explaining the sexy feelings he was having along with those he’s had in the past. He reaches a hand down, perhaps less discreetly than he meant, and adjusts himself. Maybe the skinny jeans were not such a great idea after all.

Derek takes his bass strap off and sets it gently on the couch. He gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head as he stands up and heads toward his bedroom. It was just a little too much to take in all at once, though he wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of things happening in the future.

It was, he realized later, the worst possible reaction he could’ve had because when he is ready to tell Stiles that he kind of really wants to hear more about these fantasies even though it’s possibly just a meta-emotional curiosity, Stiles is gone and all he left behind was a very confused Derek.

Stiles arrived home and faceplanted onto his bed, not even bothering to change back into his pajamas or take his shoes off. Why couldn’t he be a better liar? After all the effort it had taken to get to the uneasy friendship they had, Stiles had gone and spoiled it in one awkward fell swoop. At last, however, sleep came and allowed him a couple of hours of reprieve from his embarrassment.

The next morning, Stiles jerked awake to the obnoxious buzzing of his alarm clock. He got ready for school and did his best not to think about what happened. Scott would hopefully have some great explanations as to why he hadn’t shown up. Stiles maybe could have avoided the boner if he’d had Scott to distract him from Derek’s amazing hands.

Stiles caught up to his best friend in English, clapping his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Hey man, where were you last night?”

At least Scott had the decency to look sheepish as he said, “I fell asleep right after I texted you. I’m sorry, dude, I really want to jam with you guys sometime soon, though.” Stiles really wanted to be upset with Scott but there was no way to really justify it.

“It was a little hard to play with just drums and bass, but it went okay when we played some ska.” Stiles did his best to control his brain from veering off into unsafe territory as he explained his and Derek’s playlist.

“Now I’m really bummed I missed it. Next time, though, for sure.”

Stiles could have gone on talking about music all day, but class started and he had to pay attention again. Except for his phone started buzzing midway through the lecture on the importance of word choice when writing a close reading analysis.

_I think we should talk about what happened_. Stiles felt his heart rate pick up a bit and could only hope that Scott was too confused by what the teacher was saying to notice.

_Are you sure that’s a good idea_ , Stiles typed back hurriedly, desperate not to get caught by his teacher like he had last week. He put his phone completely on silent, but left it face up on his desk so that he could see Derek’s responses the second they came in.

_Not rly._ Stiles hadn’t even finished writing a response when he received a few texts in quick succession.

_But I feel bad abt how I handled it_

_I shouldn’t have walked away_

_come over later?_

It wasn’t exactly encouraging, but at least it wasn’t a flat-out rejection like it had seemed the night before. Great, only a few hours until he would be able to head over to the loft. Stiles replied immediately that he’d be there then turned his phone over and tried to concentrate.

***

“COME ON STILINSKI, ON YOUR FUCKING BIKE!” Coach Finstock yelled in Stiles’ face, spittle lightly spraying his face through his helmet cage.

Stiles nodded, embarrassed, and made his way towards the rest of the shirts in the shirts vs. skins scrimmage. Scott jostled him and whispered, “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Let’s just play,” Stiles muttered and shoved his mouth guard in. He didn’t want to give Scott any more opportunities to pry into his emotions. Coach blew the whistle, so Scott ran to the half line to start the play.

Finally, when practice was over, Coach came over to Stiles and pat him on the back. “The second half of that was much better, Stilinski. Can you manage to do that all the time? Is that too much to ask?” He cocked an eyebrow and didn’t even wait for a response before he started ushering everyone back into the locker room for a shower. “Greenberg, you go first, you smell like a dead raccoon.”

Stiles headed to the bench by the bleachers where he’d left his backpack, and then towards his Jeep after he made sure he had all his things. He pulled out his phone and texted Derek to let him know he was on his way.

His knock on Derek’s door was really more of a tap, and a light one at that, but Derek heard it all the same. As the door slid open, Stiles couldn’t help but wish he’d taken his time instead of rushing over, at least to have taken a shower. Oh well.

Derek stepped aside, mumbled, “hey,” and let Stiles slip past him.

“So, listen, I’m sorry about last night. I went a little overboard—okay, a lot overboard—with that explanation.” Stiles’s heart is officially pounding. He clears his throat nervously as he feels his face grow hot, a flush creeping up his neck.

Stiles watches Derek cross his arms and stroke his lip with his thumb. The tension isn't just filling the room, it's filling his lungs and he's backing himself into a corner, but he can't really breathe anymore and his heart is beating like five times faster than it was a second ago and he thinks he might faint and—

"Stiles!" Derek yells. "Breathe. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four." He closes the distance quickly, rubbing Stiles's back and coaching his breathing until the dizziness is gone and it no longer feels like someone's fist is clenching his windpipe.

"Thanks. And sorry for that." Stiles scratches the back of his head, feeling a little sheepish. "Just put me out of my misery so I can go drown my sorrows in the bottle of Jack my dad keeps in his desk at home." He moves past Derek toward the door, prepared to book it outta there the second he hears the rejection. But he needs to hear it so he can move the hell on with his life and find someone new to angst and pine over.

"I didn't ask you to come over to reject you," Stiles hears Derek say so quietly he's sure he imagined it. He feels Derek's hand close around his wrist. He can't breathe again but it's not in the panic way from his nightmares (read: two minutes ago).

"What was that?"

"You heard me. That's not why I asked you over."

"But...last night you just walked out of the room like you couldn't stand to look at me." Stiles looks anywhere and everywhere but at Derek. He spots his bass on the couch and resists the urge to say something about music.

"Can you blame me? It was kind of a shock. I needed to process all of that. You're still a teenager, you know."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "And I've had to deal with crap that normal people will never deal with. In their lives. Don't give me that shit, Derek, just say what you need to say."

"Your fingers do it for me, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hey on [tumblr](http://cyclechicster.tumblr.com).


End file.
